


Honey, I'm Home

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Spoilers for TATM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy/Rory, afterwards, a normal, happy day.</p><p>Requested at <a href="http://ladymercury-10.livejournal.com/46296.html">The Amy and Rory Cheer-Up Comment-a-Thon</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, I'm Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [such_heights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/such_heights/gifts).



"How was Nixon?"

Amy grinned, pulling the pins out of her hair bun as she shut the front door behind her and fell easily into Rory's open, welcoming arms. As his hands ran down her arms, her back, and he nestled his face in her hair in a tight embrace, Amy found herself unwilling to care that there were wrinkles coming out under his eyes, and a roughness to his fingertips. She pulled back, smiling fondly at the dough-covered apron slung over Rory's shoulder, the bit of bread that seemed to have got into his hair, and kissed him on the forehead, telling herself to ignore who she had picked up the habit from. They were happy here. Things were working here. Neither of them regretted a thing (much).

"Talkative. As always. He thinks the Doctor can help in the election." Amy slipped her slim, circular glasses off her nose and popped them into the pocket of her pencil skirt. She slipped her satchel and her notebook to the dresser in the corridor and dragging Rory by one arm back into the slightly burned-smelling kitchen. "Maybe he can help with your bread."

Rory frowned in confusion, then raised both eyebrows, wriggling out of Amy's amused grasp and running to the oven. "I only left it for a minute!"

"Different ovens, different baking." Amy wrapped her arms around Rory's stomach and swayed gently, contentedly. "Maybe I should have a try."

"You started the fire last time."

"Yeah, but it made a good chapter for my last book."

Rory hummed his agreement, and turned down the heat on the oven, flicking on the radio with one thumb and sitting on the edge of the table. Amy let him both then joined him on the edge, watching him with the utter fascination she used to award only to someone else. He looked happier now, too, if older. Some time away from the Doctor, their favourite drug and best friend, had done them both some good. They had friends here. Jobs. Amy was bringing in the money and Rory was fulfilling his oaths both as a husband and the Boy Who Waited, and as a nurse, volunteering around the city where no one else would. A little bit of 21st century perspective worked for them, and it seemed to damn well work for Manhattan, too. And Manhattan wasn't all that bad; plenty of coffee, wide open parks, sure, the odd statue to keep an eye out for and never take an eye off but no one, nothing, had bothered them yet. They way things felt, for the first time in thirty years, no one or nothing ever was.

"Shall we go out?"

"Yeah..." Rory rubbed his cheek, and rested his head on Amy's shoulder. "There's that bakery down the road."

"Sounds like a plan, Mr Williams."

Blushing, Rory took Amy's cheek in his palm, and pulled her gently into a kiss. "That it is, Mrs Williams."


End file.
